


Fog, Among Other Things

by ccuddlefish



Category: Resident Evil / Biohazard
Genre: M/M, this is garbage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2018-04-05 12:51:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4180503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ccuddlefish/pseuds/ccuddlefish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bunch of jake/piers oneshots that i cobbled together into some sort of chronological order. Have fun kids</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fog

It was one of those days. Cold, dreary, a blanket of fog covering the tiny seaport city and making everything into soft, smooth, roiling edges. From where Jake was perched on a rusted lawnchair with a hole in the blue-and-white striped fabric of the seat, it was hard to tell which areas were the tops of buildings, poking around the edge of the concrete balcony, and which were roads interspersed between them. He gathered his jacket tighter around him when his phone began to ring, making the peeling metal of the tiny, round patio table jitter. It wailed, a loud, ugly sound that made Jake want to throw it over the sixteenth floor balcony. Instead, he let it ring through. But it lit up again as soon as the last call dropped, the sound grating on his ears, shattering whatever illusion of peace he might have had. Jake put his hands over his face. And again. On the third call, he picked it up, if only to make the goddamned ringing stop.

Even with all the unexpected things that had happened lately, Piers' voice buzzing through the line still startled him. Eyes widening, he cradled the reciever close to his ear.

"You have to buzz me up." He sighed, breath rushing out and making a crackle of static hiss across the signal.

"What the hell are you doing here?" 

"I told the doorman I'm an invited guest, but apparently I look too good to know anyone in this shithole." He could almost hear him rolling his eyes. How long had it been? A month? Two?

"Don't recall inviting any guests. Sherry put you up to this?" That was the only answer he could think of. Couldn't even concieve the idea of Piers showing up of his own accord. Unless he was looking for a fight. For a few seconds, there was silence. And then,

"Buzz me up." Jake sighed.

"Hold on for two seconds, Jesus." He pulled the reciever of the phone away from his face and hit 0. The line buzzed.

"There-" A click, and Piers disconnected. Jake tossed the phone back into its cradle. You're welcome, he hissed to nobody in particular.

Piers found him on the balcony a few minutes later, leaning over the railing now, a lit cigarette dangling from his mouth.

"Why are you here?" Jake didn't turn, hearing how his footsteps padded over to stand behind him. He had taken off his shoes.

"That shit'll kill ya, you know." He pressed his back to the railing and glanced over his shoulder at the fog-drenched city, only able to make out the closest lights like tiny pinpricks in paper. It started to rain, but the air was so damp already that neither of them noticed.

"So, what? You getting mushy on me?" When he laughed, it grated on his throat. Sounded like he'd been smoking for a few decades rather than a few months.

"As if." Piers laughed. Leaned over, snatching the smoke from his hand and pitching it over the balcony with a flick of his wrist. Jake hissed a sigh and pulled the rest of the pack out of his pocket, cradling it close to his chest as if Piers might try to toss that, too. But he just curled a lip and settled into a scowl.

"Fine. Die of lung cancer. See if I care." He did care, Jake knew. Guys like him didn't show up out of nowhere to check on you if they didn't. But whether he cared because of Sherry or for another reason entirely... Well, Jake hadn't solved that one yet.

"Touching." He shoved the pack back into his jacket pocket. Heard a soft sigh of approval, knew without looking that he was trying not to smile. But then he hopped up, clapping a hand to his back, and all five foot ten inches of him was shoving him around, trying to wrestle him back inside. It was the worst when they tried to make him go out, but objection was met with aggression, so he passively let Piers push him through the concrete doorframe and into his drafty apartment.

"That's enough moping around for this century. Come on. Up. Did you even eat this morning?" He was brusque. Businesslike. 

"Forgot." His hands were soft and firm when he tugged off his jacket and caught a glimpse of yesterday's clothes. Didn't say anything, just nudged him towards the bathroom with the heel of a hand and set to raiding his kitchen.

"We're meeting Sherry in an hour and she'll kill me if we're late. Get moving. I'll get breakfast started." Jake moved down the hall. His hand was on the bathroom door when Piers called from the kitchen,

"And shower! You smell like something died." Jake snorted. Least he was honest about it. It was nice to have someone to tell you the truth, and he supposed he had Piers and Sherry for that. What were they getting out of this? Out of him. Sherry cared about him, he knew. But Piers? Was it obligation? Some fucked up sense of duty? I don't like you and I don't trust you. That was what he'd said back in China. What had changed?

"Hey, Piers?" He called, and the sound of plates clanking stopped. The smell of something cooking was starting to fill the air.

"Yeah?" Came the reply. 

"Thanks."

"No problem." Piers chuckled. Jake still didn't understand, but maybe that was for the best. 

So he opened the bathroom door, turned on the shower full blast, and tried to forget.


	2. Rainstorm

"God, do you ever shut up?" Jake kneaded his knuckles into his closed eyelids until he saw stars, then opened them and blinked until they swam away. It'd been an hour, an hour of nothing but the radio playing vapid honky-tonk, Piers bitching, and the rain pattering onto the roof of the SUV. Pattering was an understatement. Drilling was a better word. It had been his idea to wait until the rain slowed down and the visibility went from absolutely fuck-all to something slightly better to continue driving, but Jake was cursing himself now. Even though the storm blocked almost everything out, he could tell night was falling fast and he wasn't fucking prepared, mentally or physically, to spend a night sleeping in the backseat with one of the people that pissed him off most in the world right now. 

"Not my fault we got stuck in a fucking thunderstorm." Piers hissed, sinking further into the driver's seat and casting a sullen look out at the endless, roiling wall of water, both the sheets of rain coming down from the sky and the ocean running parallel to the cement road, so pilled with potholes and cracks that it could barely be called a "road" anymore. It was fucking stupid. 'Piers is coming over to see Chris next week, why don't you catch a ride with him?' He could still hear Sherry's voice clearly in his head, in the same way it had sung down the telephone line. Despite their unspoken truce formed by all those times he and Sherry had dragged him out of his apartment, no two souls could be trapped in a car in a rainstorm and not be at each other's throats within the hour. 

"You're not making it easy, either." Jake spat. Piers rolled his eyes and fiddled with the radio that was quickly degrading into waves of static. It was better than fucking country, at least.

"As if you've got anything better to do." A few snippets of a radio announcer's voice slid by in between pulses of white noise. Piers hit the knob, making the lights on the dash glow brighter for a few seconds, lighting his face up blue. No luck. The new station was entirely static, and they were running out of entertainment options.

"The hell is that supposed to mean?" Jake challenged. The radio cut out, leaving them with the roaring of the wind that was making the vehicle rock and the sound of their own breathing. Jake pulled his collar up to where it nearly touched his ears and hunched his shoulders, pressing his cheek against the cold glass of the window.

"What, am I supposed to let you sulk out the window 'till this mess clears up?" Jake could almost hear a laugh in his voice from where he was curled, but he did his best to make sure his eyes stayed on the rain and the gray surf as if he suddenly found it riveting.

"Be fuckin' easier than fighting me all the time. You get some kinda kick out of pissing me off?" Piers just laughed, a long, clear, loud sound. The engine purred and a key clicked. A few puffs of exhaust. Jake could already feel the heat from the air vents dissipating when he swung his head around.

"What the hell'd you turn it off for? You wanna freeze?" Piers wrinkled his nose and pulled the keys out of the ignition. He unbuckled his seatbelt and started climbing over the gearshift in one smooth move, fishing his parka out from the pile of bags that was the backseat. 

"I don't want our car to stall when we need to get out of here because we wasted all the battery on the fucking radio." He shrugged the jacket on, then curled his legs up under him, crossing them. Jake sighed. He was right, and as much as he hated to admit it, he usually was. 

"Ten to one we sleep here tonight." Sullen, downcast but accepting, Jake tried to stretch his legs into a position that didn't contort them into odd angles. In unison, they cast a glance out the windshield at the raindrops hitting it at what looked like nearly terminal velocity. That ten to one was looking more like a hundred to one as the minutes clicked by on Piers' watch and the rain showed no sign of letting up.

"I don't mind." Piers muttered softly to himself. 

"I call the backseat." Jake suddenly crowed, whipping off his seatbelt and leaning over the space between the headrests. He'd realized that if he had to spend the night with some asshole in an SUV in the middle of what was shaping up to be one of the worst thunderstorms the U.S. west coast had ever seen, he was going to do it with fucking leg room, so help him God.

"Nice try. Driver gets first pick." Piers' hand came down in front of his eyes, effectively putting up a barrier between him and his destination.

"Man, you drive like a fuckin' old lady. Who put you behind the wheel?" Jake tried to claw his arm aside, but all he got was a faceful of shirt as Piers slipped between the seats.

"It's my car. Besides, you drive like a fucking maniac. I don't want to die, thanks." He started shoving what he could to the floor and into the trunk via the flap on the back of the middle seat.

"Have I killed us so far?" Piers laughed at that, but it was more of a bark mixed with its fair share of annoyance. Feeling's mutual, asshole.

"Unsurprisingly, that's not an actual measurement of whether you're a good driver or not. I'm taking the back seat. I hope you get leg cramps." He crouched, trying to fish a blanket out of the luggage, only succeeding in tipping over a suitcase, and no way were either of them setting foot out of the car in the pouring rain to get some stupid emergency blankets out of the trunk.

"Can't we both sleep in the back?" Jake tried stretching his legs across to the driver's seat, but to no avail. If he slept curled up he was going to have the mother of all joint pains tomorrow morning. No way. He peeked around to see Piers, having successfully vacated the seat, pulling his unzipped parka over himself and trying to settle. It was getting colder by the minute. 

"No room." He rolled over until his back was to Jake.

"Move over." Jake angled his shoulders to slip around the seats and half-fell onto the carpeted floor of the vehicle. 

"Jake, I said there's no- Ugh!" He shot out a hand to catch himself, and suddenly Piers was glaring up at him. He was half above him, one leg wedged into the area between the back of the seat and where Piers lay along with his arm, the other between his legs.

"Really?" He growled. Jake wedged himself down further until they were both lying on their side, nearly nose to nose. He pulled his jacket tighter. Grinned, to Piers' growing dismay.

"See? Fits fine." He chuckled.

"If by fine you mean crammed into an insufficient amount of square footage with a six foot whatever guy who is, apparently, made entirely of bones," At that he wiggled his ribcage and pressed a fist to Jake's hip, feeling the grate of bones and joints together, making a face.

"Then yeah, it's fucking super." Jake laughed again, and he groaned. Tucked one leg around his and he groaned louder. 

"Why do you have to be so cynical all the time?" Jake heard himself say as Piers leaned back and tried to grab his jacket from where it had fallen to the floor.

"No idea, why do you have to piss me off at every possible opportunity?" He pulled it up onto himself with a resolute flick of a wrist, and Jake spat around a mouthful of fur from the lining of the hood he suddenly found in his face. Inconsiderate little-

They sulked like that for a while, half tangled together and trying their hardest to nurse a grudge that they both knew had a life on the battlefield and nowhere else. It had made perfect sense, when Jake's nonchalant arrogance made him untrustworthy, when Piers' stubborn uptightness was an annoying burden Jake had to bear even when desparately trying to stave off monsters. To have a rivalry. To spit and call each other names and promise an asskicking when they got out of this. That hadn't come, Jake was too freaked out and Piers was too busy and they'd just ended up in some sort of weird truce. 

"Whatever. Goodnight." Piers hissed and twisted his torso, trying to get comfortable in the situation he'd resigned himself to, and Jake sighed. Let him fuss around and pull his jacket over himself in some sort of lieu of a blanket. He'd have liked it better if they'd kicked each other around a little bit before parting ways instead of... this. Piers was yawning now, tucking his nose into the crook of Jake's neck. Instead of a steady heartbeat that he could feel rumbling through the thin skin of their chests amid the sound of Piers' breathing slowly evening out. He pressed in further, body heat coming off him in waves like a little radiator. Anything would have been better than sitting in this car listening to the rain and the barely audible noise of Piers dozing off, and not because he was still a little cold or because Piers' head was crushing his shoulder. Because it made his stomach turn somersaults and on top of that it felt like he'd swallowed bats. Or whatever else sort of winged thing that would make your entire chest cavity feel like it was fluttering. He reconsidered leg cramps for a split second, but the guy was already most of the way asleep and he'd fought so hard to get here. So he closed his eyes. And tried not to think. He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately.

It didn't take long before he had fallen asleep, too, even amid a flipping stomach and a quickened heartbeat that he found to be perfectly in time with the violent sound of rain hitting the metal rooftop. He didn't dream.


	3. Humidity

"Christ. You really did a number on yourself, didn't you?" Piers tutted, dragging him out of the humid night air and, almost gently by comparison, locking fingers around his jaw and tilting his cheek to catch the light from the ceiling bulb. The scrape on his temple was throbbing and pulsing with blood again. He knew he looked a nasty mess, could see it in the partial snippets of his reflection that he caught in the hall mirror. Bloody nose, scraped temple, bruised lip, God knew what else. Piers lowered his arm, winced as the movement agitated his bruised shoulder. Without another word, Jake felt himself being shepherded over into the living room and to the couch. He stood in the middle of everything, suddenly self-conscious. Wasn't really sure why. It was just a house. The first floor of a duplex, if a remarkably clean one.

"Half of that was your fault." He tried to assert, but Piers had already disappeared into the bathroom. He could hear the clatter and scrape of things being moved around. He shifted on his feet.

"Maybe if you could be assed to dodge once in a while-" Piers called. What sounded like a cupboard clicked shut.

"Yeah, dodge a punching bag being vaulted at me at fucking mach five."

"Ah huh. Sit." Piers returned, standard first aid kit tucked under his arm and pursing his lips in what Jake could only assume was supposed to be a frown. He'd already been beaten up enough tonight, though, so he sat. Piers tucked a leg under himself and sat, too. 

"Keep still." Jake tried because it was easier than arguing, but he didn't have much say in the matter. Piers pinned his chest to the back of the couch with one arm and started swabbing at his scrape with the other. He hissed when the alcohol met a patch of particularly abrased flesh, but otherwise bit his tongue and kept silent. 

Everything felt different now that they'd started training together. It wasn't even anything formal, just a drawn-out invitation to scrap turned kickboxing match, but they did it every other week now. It was frustrating and painful, but he was learning. Jake didn't want to think about what he was training for. To protect himself. To protect Sherry. That had been the idea. But now he was starting to feel like there was more. Piers went from his scrape to the laceration by his right eye, and he jumped again, surprise and pain in equal measure.

"Why are you doing this?" Before he knew it, he'd said it. Piers pursed his lips again, in a motion Jake had seen enough times to know it meant he was chewing the inside of his cheek. For a long time, he said nothing. Jake let him clean his face, almost dozing off under the soft, rhythmic motions. Eventually, though, Piers gathered himself and grinned.

"If you totally demolish someone in training, it's common courtesy." He was deflecting again. That was fine. He didn't think he was ready to hear the real answer, anyway. Jake stuck out his tongue and he snatched a bandage from the kit.

"Demolished, my ass. I almost won that last match." He hadn't, they both knew. But he was getting better. Had beat him last time. He figured he could let this one slide. 

"Yeah, and I won the previous one, and the one before that, and the one before that-" Piers piped up, spreading some sort of cream over his forehead now. It stung when his fingers made contact, and he jerked his head out of the way.

"Fuck you." Piers laughed and, not deterred, swung his leg over so he was kneeling on the couch, using that leverage to finish with the cream. 

"You sure all this crap is necessary?" 

"I'm not the one who got a fucking burn from falling face first onto the mat." He vacated for a few seconds to grab another bandage. Jake nearly scoffed when he returned with it clutched in his fist. 

"Enough. No way you're putting that on my face." Piers raised a brow and unstuck the wax paper from the back of the purple Hello Kitty band-aid. Tried to stick it to his cheek. Jake dodged, leaning his head back and sinking into the couch cushions.

"It's the only kind I have left. You want an infection?" He tried to catch his cheek, but Jake moved over quickly enough that his swiping hand caught only air.

"Listen-" Jake started, but by then he had decided, in some act of desperation, to plant his knees on either side of Jake's hips and press him nearly flat. Trying to pin him. At least that was what it felt like.

"Stop moving, will you?" He snapped, legs locking into place on either side of his hips, pressing until Jake could feel the bite of an unevenly healed rib on Piers' left side digging into his own. Something else was pressing, but he swallowed and let out a long, low breath and hoped Piers wouldn't notice.

"Whatever." He cast his eyes away, ignored the feel of his hands fussing with something.

"There. You're welcome." He finished with a (relatively) gentle pat to his cheek. 

"I feel like an idiot." Piers laughed, and, hand on his shoulder for support, leaned back to get a good look at him.

"You look..." But he couldn't finish, just bit his lip and tried not to laugh. Jake groaned, sunk further into the couch. Piers chuckled for a few seconds, until he realized where he was sitting. He coughed, suddenly awkward, and slid off, reaching onto the coffee table to grab his keys. Shit. Jake's stomach dropped. 

"You hungry?" He asked. Back turned. Closed posture. Shit. 

"Just got my ass kicked for three hours, if that answers your question." Just play it off, Jake. Pretend nothing happened, because nothing did happen. Fix your pants and curb your middle schooler butterflies and ignore it. You're really good at that.

"Let's go see what's open at," He stood, idly checking his watch and running a stray hand through his hair.

"Ten O' Clock. Christ." Piers made a face.

"Lead the way." Jake stood. They left. The street was hot, humid, dark in between the pools of light created by the street lights. Far off, he could see the glitter of plate glass and neon lights that marked skyscrapers against the sky.

That was it. Nothing happened. So why'd he feel like he'd just run a marathon, sweat dusting his palms, heart trying to tear itself out of his chest? This was bad, Jake knew. But he was going to ignore it until he couldn't anymore, because that was what he did. Piers called for him to catch up, and he broke into a run, feet hitting the street hard and leaving little puddles of dirty water shaped like his shoes.


	4. Sea Air

Jake's eyes flicked to latch on to the taillights of a car peeling down the street, blurring into orange stripes for a few seconds before it screeched around the corner and all that was left of it was the reflection of its taillights on the red stop sign posted at the turn, then nothing. Followed another. A few seconds per car, blue, red, gray, all with the same orange lights peeling out of the dark part of town and setting their sights for north. He considered just climbing on his motorcycle and peeling off, too, but something stopped him. Certainly not the small company in the building behind him. So then what? He spit out the dead remains of a cigarette and resisted the urge to light another one. That shit'll kill ya, you know. He heard it singing through his head.

Jake laughed, but there was no humor in it. Good to know the pushy bastard was inside his head now, too. Just his fucking luck. 

For once, it was cold instead of humid and sticky and always wet. He couldn't feel it completely, but he knew from the cracking sound an ice puddle made when a boot crushed it and the puffs of steam floating from the man's nose as he picked his way around the side of the building, slowly moving out of the way of the taillights. Another car whipped past, lighting him up from behind in a quick pass, bringing his face to attention. Piers sighed through his nose and shrugged his jacket the rest of the way on. He was at Jake's side in another second.

"Seems I'm always having to track you down, huh?" He zipped it up and a puff of white escaped his lips when he gave a little laugh. Jake turned his head away from the taillights and the street corner and into the semidarkness of the thin passageway between the cement walls of his building and the one adjacent. It terminated at the end with, surprise, another cement wall. This one had a faded poster taped up onto it, bleached by at least a year's worth of rain and moisture. That was all this city had to offer, apparently.

"Yeah." Almost forgetting Piers was there, he swiveled his head and tucked his hands deep into his pockets.

"You've been acting weird all evening. All... Jumpy." Piers wasn't looking at him in some sort of transparent attempt at nonchalance. He was chewing on his lip. Jake almost lifted a hand to stop him, had it all the way out of his pocket before he realized what he was doing and jammed it down as far as he could, making the inner seams strain.

"And?" He replied on autopilot. What the hell was that? Piers was still chewing his lip. It was bloody. Jake told himself he didn't care.

"And I wanted to make sure you weren't out here getting yourself hit by a car or mugged or whatever." He hadn't moved. All Jake could see was the corner of his jaw and most of the back of his head. His hair was getting shaggy. Not shorn tight to the head with military precision, like it always was. He'd been on "paid administrative leave" since China. For Jake it would have been a blessing, but for him it was... different. They were different.

"What do you care?" It came out harsher than he had intended. Or maybe he had intended it that way. Why are you doing this? Why do you care? What ties you to this damp city?

"Excuse me?" Finally Piers turned around. His hair caught the light refracting off the red stop sign and glowed. Barely a second after getting a reaction out of him and it was wrong. Jake wasn't sure what he'd wanted, but this wasn't it. Piers was still chewing his lip, but now his hazel eyes were boring into Jake's skull and his posture was squared off, legs planted and jaw clenched. Like when they were fighting. Was this what he wanted? Just get it out of your system, get a black eye, maybe break a few ribs each, end up sweaty and bloody and panting-

"Just... Let's go somewhere." And now it was Jake's turn to bite his lip, swinging his chin down towards the ground. He lifted his boot and crushed the remains of the cigarette that he realized posthumously were still smoking. 

"Like where?" He went from anger to confusion in a second, stepping forward. The sleeve of his parka brushed Jake's wool jacket. 

"Somewhere not here." He pushed off the wall, the swiping sound of cement over fabric echoing through the confined space.

"Not clarifying in the slightest, but thanks." Piers gritted his teeth and hissed. Another second brought him from confusion to annoyance. Jake was familiar with that, at least. He twisted to avoid brushing past him on his way out and made for where he'd parked his bike.

"You coming or not?" He called over his shoulder, to a hiss of consternation and a scuffle of feet. Piers was on his heels in a few seconds. 

"D'you have anywhere in mind or were you planning to just drive around in circles?" He chirped, eyeing the motorcycle out of the corner of his eye like it might bite him. When he caught Jake looking he snapped his gaze away and put on another feigned air of nonchalance.

"I'll drive in circles if I damn well please. You're welcome to go back inside." He slid onto the seat, pulling a helmet on and hooking the strap on another with his finger, leaving it dangling from his outstretched arm as he jammed the keys into the ignition. An invitation. He didn't know what he was going to do if Piers took it, the thought made him feel sick to his stomach. But of course he did, sighing and clipping the worn leather strap under his chin. 

"Hold on, pup." He grinned when Piers took a seat, shreds of annoyance still clinging to his face and making his bottom lip stick out in a half-pout.

"Hey-" He started, but Jake turned the throttle and the vehicle growled and jerked forward. Instead of voicing his objection he vouched for wrapping his arms around Jake's torso and clinging, head to the side and pressed between his shoulderblades. And breathing out, he could feel each shaky breath Piers took as it quivered along his ribcage and out his mouth. The bike shot around the corner, taillights slicing across the red stop sign and making it glow white. 

They headed west, to the choppy black ocean. After a long while of driving increasingly shittier roads they found a section of beach that was dead and small. Wasn't especially hard, nobody who lived in the city swam this far north and anyway it was March and the water had to have been icier than the air. But Jake continued to drive until there were no more cars whipping past and the stretch of road parallel to the beach was pitted and ugly and half gravel. Didn't know why, but Piers didn't say anything and neither did he. He'd stopped quivering after the first mile and by the time they could hear the water lapping at the beach he'd relaxed into Jake's shoulder. Still didn't relinquish his near-choking grip, though. 

They putted onto the beach, the wheels of the bike spitting up sand in what seemed like a defiant last effort before purring to a stop. Piers was off in a heartbeat, unbuckling the shiny black helmet and breathing in the air. The salt-drenched vapor that floated off the water had always made Jake sick. He didn't know why he'd picked here. Almost anywhere would have been better. A park, a rest stop, literally anything else, take him back to your apartment for christ's sake-

He wasn't doing that. He didn't even know why that thought had popped into his head. Jesus, Jake, get it together-

Piers was halfway down the beach and nearly at his destination, a twisted and rusty park bench parked awkwardly in the middle of the small stretch of sand wedged in between clusters of trees. He'd left his helmet on the seat, and Jake did the same, tucking the keys into his pocket and making his way over. Slowly. Don't run. Don't make him think this was any more than an impulsive mistake and that you actually want to talk to him. Nevermind that you do, just walk slow and slouch and look bored. 

"It's pretty." Piers was looking out at the ocean, all huge and black and frothing, with an odd expression on his face that brought to mind nostalgia. Pretty was one word for it, yeah. Made him nervous. He purposefully kept his eyes on the patch of evergreen trees sprouting up in the sandy dirt to his right and sat down. 

"Straight out of a movie." He rumbled, trying to get as comfortable on the slats of half-rotted wood as he could, spreading his arm out across the back of the bench and tucking his left calf over his right thigh. 

"Yeah, I think I saw that one." Piers chuckled, turning away from the waves to face him. He noticed where Jake's arm was a fraction of a second before he himself did, blinking and casting a glance along to where his left hand was hanging dangerously close to his shoulder. Jake's stomach dropped, sure he would shut down, but before he could do anything other than fret Piers had interlocked his fingers with his own and tugged until Jake's arm was around his shoulder proper. 

The winged things were back, clawing a burning trail up the inside of his ribcage and to his clavicle, leaving bruises and tiny claw marks that he was sure would be visible were you to crack open his chest. Was this the reaction he had wanted? Expected? Every second left him feeling more confused, but Piers was looking out at the sea again so he was left to stew, trying to look anywhere but where their hands were still loosely laced together. 

It'd been a year now. Since China. China as some sort of half-abstract concept signaling a time when his life had turned for the better. He'd met Sherry, heard from Chris about his father. Sherry was his closest friend, the case on his father which was once just a huge question mark was snapped shut and he could forget. This business with Piers and this beach and his palpitating heart was extra. Unnecessary. He could just walk away if he wanted. Doubted Piers would say anything either, from the nervous way he was tearing into his bottom lip and the intentional turned cheek, supposedly looking out at the ocean but most likely avoiding him. Just leave, a nasty little thought chirped in his head. Turn tail. Go home. Ugly little half-formed thoughts flitted through his brain, but he sighed out between gritted teeth. Not this time. Instead, he lifted his right hand and, before he had time to reconsider, placed a thumb on Piers' lip, drawing his jaw open and disengaging his teeth, leaving his bloody lip open to the air.

"Don't do that. You're going to fuck up your face."

"Fft. What do you care?" Piers raised a brow, a smile creeping to his lips. Jake withdrew his hand with haste. The pad of his thumb was red.

"I don't." He scoffed. Piers' hand tensed where it was hooked around his. His thigh bumped up against Jake's, and he jumped. He was moving closer. Oh, christ. Don't.

"That so?" Jake tried to reply, but all that came out of his mouth was a long, shaky breath, so he shut his lips and lifted his chin. That didn't last long, however, because soon he felt the press of fingers on his jaw, not-so-gently dragging him back down. He relented easily, letting himself be yanked by the hand he suddenly found on the back of his head until the nervous sickness roiling through his stomach crested and their noses were nearly touching. Everything was going too fast, was whipping around him at impossible speeds until the whirling world made him blink and shudder as he tried to anchor himself. Piers didn't give him that chance.

Christ, he's going to kill me, was the only thought in his mind when Piers tilted his head up and dragged his half-frozen lips down the last few centimetres until they were jammed skin to skin. Jake was hard, all angles and planes and calluses, but when Piers' soft mouth locked onto his, he melted. And then it was easy to unhitch their hands and press his to Piers' back, trying to pull him in as if they could possibly be any closer. Jake kissed him like he'd found something he'd forgotten he had and he kissed back like it was the most urgent thing he'd ever done. This was the reaction he had wanted. Only took him a year of suffering through this ugly damp city and trying desperately to fit things together to get it. Piers pulled back, taking in air in long, slow, deep breaths. Jake huffed, and a cloud of white floated into the salty, icy air between them.

"Maybe a little." He averted his gaze as if the admission was embarassing. But then Piers snickered and dipped his head down again, and he just focused on remembering how to breathe. Tiny, pale wisps of steam curled around his cheeks. He'd forgotten why he hated the sea. That was fine.

Jake rested an idle palm on the curve of Piers' shoulder and laughed. And, as if it was infectious, Piers laughed too.


	5. Vanilla... Or Something

"Okay, so you really need to look at it with an open mind." Piers drawled, nearly tripping over a fold on the carpet as he walked backwards, keeping a flour-stained hand over Jake's eyes. Sherry put the entirety of her tiny frame into hauling Jake forward, nudging him first to the right and then to the left to dodge an end table. 

"Am I going to have to mark this down as the worst first birthday party ever?" He huffed, feeling the narrowly avoided couch bang his shins and letting out a curse. Did they have to cover his eyes? They made their way to the kitchen like that, in a roundabout, clumsy manner.

"You were the one who didn't wanna make a big deal of it. Sherry was ready to throw you a fucking gala." Piers quipped, rounding a corner and hopping up a few half-steps.

"Ignoring that. Listen, Jake, when you see it you gotta like... tilt your head to the left and squint. It looks best that way." Sherry sighed, a condemning implication in her voice, tiny hands placed firmly on his back and dragging him left again. Piers groaned.

"Don't look at me! I wanted to buy something." All this explaining was just making them look worse. Was there actually going to be a cake, or were they just going on this tangent to explain how they'd accidentally burnt it or tossed it out the window or whatever?

"It's not genuine if you buy it." Sherry asserted, voice entering the squeaky range. 

"Yeah, I'm sorry, and that hot mess is genuine?" He could almost hear Piers rolling his eyes.

"Like I said, tilt to the left and squint." And then Sherry giggled, and he felt his boots hit home onto the kitchen tiles. His head was so close to the ceiling of Sherry's tiny bungalow that he had to duck to avoid the burning heat of the fluorescent bulb along his barely-there hair. Piers refused to move his hands, though, so he stumbled forward a few steps, hands finding the wooden edge of the table easily enough. And then Piers spread his fingers to let in a few slivers of light, and eventually, pulled his hands away to let him take it in.

It was vanilla... probably. It looked like they'd tried to make it three layers, but the middle one was split in half and subsequently it tilted to the side. It was spilling past the plate and onto the hardwood tabletop. Little clusters of sprinkles and icing flowers dotted the top, Sherry's handiwork no doubt. Messy, scrawled white letters were just as easily recognisable as Piers'. The entire thing was covered in half-melted pink icing and it looked like someone had tried to use the wax candles that read "21" to hold the whole thing together, considering the "2" was shoved halfway down into the cake. It was a structural mess. He loved it.

He stood there, hand over his mouth, blinking hard. 

"Happy birthday?" Piers added at the last second, hopefully, raking his hand through his hair and leaving a trail of flour from hairline to the top of his head. Sherry wiped red food coloring off her nose and smiled up at him expectantly for a few seconds, before wrinkling her nose and pressing up on her tiptoes to look into his face as well as she could.

"Are you... crying?" Half laughing, half concerned, she reached a hand up to pat his shoulder.

"No." He blinked harder. 

"He's crying!" Piers laughed, pushing off the counter where he was perched. 

"Fuck you." He waved his hand through the air, starting to turn away, but he couldn't escape. Piers was first, a tight grip and a quick succession of kisses up his jawline. Sherry crashed forward soon enough, though, and buried her face in his chest. Her arms were smaller but equally as inescapable, so he sat and stewed and ignored the flush creeping up his face.

"Happy birthday, Jake." Sherry grinned. He rolled his eyes, sidestepping and fishing for a knife amidst the batter-stained bowls and implements piled alarmingly high around the sink. He turned, a smile creeping up his face despite his best efforts.

"Alright, I'm going to cut it, but if anything blows up or falls apart or something, I swear-" Piers chuckled.

"It'll probably be fine." He waved a hand flippantly, resting his head on Jake's shoulder.

"Probably?" Jake shot him a look. Piers huffed a sigh.

"95 percent. Cut it already-" Jake kissed him. For a long minute until Piers was laughing again and gently pushing him back.

"Cut the stupid thing or I will." He laughed and obliged, and Sherry and Piers bickered and complained about how getting it onto plates was going to be a nightmare, ribbing each other about this or that. Everything felt right. Felt good. Sherry beaming up at him across the table. Piers nudging him with his elbow and muttering something that could have been an expletive. Everything, including the lopsided cake.


	6. Snow

On a night with the icy wind screaming at the windows and snow flurries obscuring the glass so all he could see out of it was white and grey and black whipping around the balcony and just about nothing else, Piers found himself sprawled across Jake's couch, writing e-mails. He'd been caught up in the snowstorm on his way home, leaving Piers and Sherry to hold down the fort and complain about the apparent lack of thermostat. 

"I could start a fire?" Sherry mused, pulling a blanket from the closet and tossing another to Piers, then retreating to her chair, sipping the coffee they'd made and eyeing the fireplace set into the wall. 

"You think Jake knows how to use a fireplace? Ten to one the flue doesn't even open." Piers didn't even look up from his computer screen as he said it, and Sherry groaned. 

"I could start a fire with Jake's furniture in the middle of the living room." She suggested, glaring angrily at the crooked rug in the center of the floor. Piers laughed. 

"If he asks, I had nothing to do with it." Sherry grinned and hopped up, grabbing a fire poker from where it leaned against the wall and starting to fiddle with the fireplace, producing a few crackling noises.

"It's electric. Glorified space heater. Should I turn it on?" She announced to nobody in particular, already starting to figure out which was the ON button. 

"I dunno, freezing to death looks pretty good to me right now. Nothing like a little pneumonia." Sherry stuck out her tongue. 

"Whatever, spoilsport." She'd managed to turn it on, and she abandoned the fireplace, curling into her chair and pulling one of her work books from her bag. Sherry wasn't banned from work, Piers thought, with a hint of bitterness. He turned back to his stupid e-mails. 

Chris was trying to get him back on duty, but apparently it was an uphill battle after China. He'd bore the countless psych examinations without complaint, continued to train, keeping himself in shape for what he thought was his inevitable return to the field, where he belonged. It was starting to look less and less inevitable, with all the stalling, the re-examinations, the paperwork being filed. He'd been getting busy work, part time small investigations that never actually turned out to be outbreaks. And training. Chris had him training new recruits, trying to find him a team. He was still stuck on that stupid idea he'd had about Piers succeeding him, regardless of what Piers had to say about it.

Immersed in thought, he barely looked up when the apartment door clicked open, biting his lip and continuing to tap away on his laptop. He didn't even really register what that meant until cold fingers closed around the back of his neck, searing into his skin and sending a tremor down his spine. Piers yelped, hopped up from where he was sitting, spinning to face Jake as he grinned and unwrapped his ice-encrusted jacket, dropping it to the floor. His reddened hand wriggled clumsily, the freezing fingers starting to thaw in the warm air. Piers ran a hand over the back of his now-clammy neck. 

"Jesus!" He hissed, stepping backwards and fixing Jake with a glare he was sure was convincing, all thoughts of work and leave and outbreaks abandoned, replaced by what he liked to pretend was annoyance but was more likely affection. Jake tended to do that to him. He grinned and shed his scarf, tossing it onto the wet pile starting to form on the floor by his feet, and hopped the back of the couch in one smooth move, sending a few pillows tumbling off. 

"Hands're cold. C'mere." Jake laughed. Threateningly, he lifted his hands, and Piers stepped back, beating a quick retreat and huddling half in shelter of Sherry's oversized armchair. Sherry barely looked up.

"Jacob Muller, touch me and I swear to God you will not live to see twenty-two-" Jake laughed again, clear and loud, and lunged, cold fingers raking across his arm. He sidestepped and moved clockwise around the armchair. Sherry looked up from her book, slightly bemused, blinking in the low light. Her eyes moved from Piers to Jake and back again.

"Sherry, can you help me?" Piers sighed in annoyance, continuing to circle the armchair. 

"Jake..." She called half-heartedly and looked over her shoulder at him, but a grin started to creep across her face midsentence, so the result was less than convincing. Jake laughed again, and so did she, pulling the blankets wrapped around her legs tight and turning a page in her book. No allies there. Piers dodged the ottoman and bolted past Jake to the kitchen. He skirted the table and waited until he heard Jake's boots fall to the floor and his bare feet pad across the tile. 

"Put that near me and I'm going to lop it off." He called as his boyfriend rounded the corner. Said boyfriend rolled his eyes and continued to advance. 

"You were singin' a pretty different tune last night-" Jake called. Arrogant little- Piers was about to object when Jake's icy hand clapped down on his wrist, grip tight. He let him reel him in, smiling despite himself. Before he could do anything else, Jake trapped him against the counter, the cool stone pressing on an odd angle into his spine.

"Fuck you." He squirmed, but there were cold hands on his hips now, leaving icy imprints and spots of frigid skin. There was nowhere else to go, so he sighed and rested his forehead on Jake's shoulder.

"You steal all the covers when you sleep over here. 'S payback." He shuddered when the hands moved up under his shirt, but was soon distracted by the contrast brought by warm lips at his ear.

"You own gloves. I've seen them." Piers said, softly. Jake's hands had settled into the small of his back, and he was leaning into Piers, pressing his cheek to the crook of his neck and hovering there. When he smiled, Piers could feel his lips move. 

"Yup." He muttered, a grin cracking his face. His hands were a little warmer, now.

"And you still pull this shit every time." Piers rolled his eyes, though Jake couldn't see.

"Ah huh."

"You're the worst." Piers smiled for a second, then yelped when Jake's hands shifted. Shot him a glare he barely noticed, ignored in favor of tilting his head until-

His lips were warm, even if his hands weren't. 

"Love you, too." He muttered into the kiss. Outside, the snow had started to let up, leaving the world white and fresh and cold. Inside, Piers pressed up until their cheeks and noses collided clumsily, glad, despite all appearances, that he was here.


End file.
